


His name is (not) Jimmy

by destiel by iswyn (iswyn)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Dean, Charlie Ships It, Dean is a Sweetheart, Lawyer Castiel, M/M, Sassy Balthazar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8665030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iswyn/pseuds/destiel%20by%20iswyn
Summary: Dean is working as a barista to put himself through college, and he may or may not have developed a tiny crush on a certain customer whose name he doesn't even know.Okay, fine, he has.Shut up, Charlie, and his name is not Jimmy!





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure this is a theme that's been done to death in the fandom, but it's the first Destiel I wrote, like a year and a half ago, and I wanted to put it up here. 
> 
> Probably more Destiel to come from me, possibly in this universe.
> 
> Oh yeah, and I'm Iswyn on tumblr, if anyone wants to come say hello.

Novak.

Dean didn’t think it could be his first name. It was the only one he gave when Dean asked, though, so it was what he had to work with. He’d spent the first few days trying to decide on a given name that fit, but gave up when nothing felt quite right.

Charlie had taken to calling him Jimmy, but Dean was sure that wasn’t right. Way too boring. She pointed out that he looked like an accountant, with his dark suit and too-large trench coat.

Dean thought he looked like an angel. An absent minded one maybe, given the way that his hair was constantly sticking out in every direction and his tie was flipped backward half the time, but not an accountant at all.

Novak showed up every Monday through Friday, at precisely 5 AM, and ordered the same large soy mocha double shot.

After the first few weeks, Dean did two things. First, he traded with Jo so that he’d have all the early morning shifts—she’d looked at him like he was crazy but agreed without asking why. What idiot wanted to work at four in the morning? Second, he decided to get the mocha ready beforehand.

The Monday after Dean traded shifts, the object of his affections walked in right on time, and Dean saw surprise register on his face.

“Isn’t there usually a girl here on Mondays?” he asked in that deep gravelly voice.

Dean tried as hard as he could to pretend he wasn’t having sexual thoughts about that voice.

“Yeah, Jo’s on afternoons now,” he said with a bright smile. “I’ll be around in the mornings.” He silently prayed that the guy hadn’t been coming in for Jo. She was in a relationship, and… well dammit, she wasn’t Dean.

“I see,” the man nodded. “Um, can I get a—”

“Soy mocha double shot,” Dean supplied helpfully, then almost hit himself. There was no way to know whether remembering a customer’s order was going to impress them or creep them out—it varied depending on the customer.

The guy froze for a minute, cocking his head to one side and squinting at Dean as though trying to mentally translate his words. Then he nodded, looking like he was surprised. “Yes. Yes, that sounds excellent. Thank you.”

Dean tried to cover his smirk, but considering the fact that Charlie said his natural expression was a smirk, he doubted it did much good. “No problem. Could I get a name?”

“Novak,” the man supplied, stubbornly refusing to change his own script at all. He pulled a ten out of his wallet and handed it over to Dean, accepting the change in silence.

Then he seemed to pause, and slowly ran his eyes down Dean’s face to his chest. The intense scrutiny was a little disconcerting. He wasn’t used to having the complete undivided attention of anyone, let alone a crush whose first name he didn’t even know.

“Thank you very much,” Novak said, dropping his change in the tip jar.  “Dean.”

Dean wasn’t much for swooning, but he was pretty sure his name in that voice would have been a good excuse for it. It was also going straight into the spank bank for later.

“No problem, Mr. Novak,” he said, going over to grab the still-scalding mocha sitting on the counter and hand it off. “Happy to be of service.”

Novak raised an eyebrow and Dean flushed scarlet, realizing the possible implication behind the words. Why, of all times, did his brain choose that moment to behave like a horny preteen? It took every ounce of self-control he had to not try to snatch the words back and end up looking even more awkward.

Fortunately, the man didn’t force him to deal with his own wandering tongue. He just smiled, took his coffee, and left the shop, seemingly unaware of the extent of Dean’s awkwardness.

The thought of wandering tongues distracted Dean, though, and the next customer through the door had to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention. She looked irritated, but she was a regular, and Dean thought she pretty much always looked irritated.

Fortunately, Dean’s awkwardness didn’t keep Mr. Novak from coming back the next day, or the next. He might have been imagining things, but he was convinced there was something there. Not a tension exactly, but something… just something.

He didn’t bother asking for a name or order anymore, and Mr. Novak always smiled, thanked him, called him by name, and left him a tip in excess of five dollars. It wasn’t much money in the grand scheme of things, but given how most people ignored the tip jar completely, it meant something to Dean and Charlie, who got to split the tips from their shift every afternoon.

After the morning rush cleared on Friday, Dean was in the back, putting the last of the mugs in the dishwasher.

Charlie came up behind him. “Get your flirt on with Jimmy, did you?”

“His name’s not Jimmy,” he said, turning to scowl at her.

She laughed at him, giving him a shove back toward the front when they heard the bell chime. “It is! You’re in love with Ji-mmy, you want him to do your taaa-xes,” she sing-songed after him.

He just sighed and dried his hands on his apron as he headed to the counter. “Hi, welcome to—”

It was Mr. Novak and some guy. Dean, in a completely rational way for a person he hadn’t ever met before, hated him. He was tall, blonde, and looked douchey. In fact, he was leering at Dean. That perked him up. It probably meant that they were just there together, not _together_ -together.

“The usual, Mr. Novak?” Dean asked with a smile, looking over into those blue eyes that totally didn’t feature in every fantasy he’d had for the last month.

The blonde guy laughed. “Mr. Novak, Cassie? When did you get all Christian Grey on me?”

The muscle in his jaw clenched, and Dean’s angel scowled at the man. “How many times do I have to ask you not to call me that, Balthazar?”

“One more, Cassie,” Balthazar answered. “Always one more.”

Dean’s initial impression was only changed marginally by this exchange. He still hated blondie, he just didn’t feel a need to kill him to make sure that Mr. Novak wasn’t dating anyone. There was no way that they were dating. The interaction had the feeling of brothers, or maybe old friends.

Turning to Dean, blondie grinned. “So, what’s Cassie’s usual? Plain black coffee, no sugar, no cream, no personality?”

Staring him down with what he hoped was a blank expression, Dean shook his head. “Irish, lots of sugar. He said something about needing a little something extra to get through a long day of working with some jerk.”

For just a second, Dean worried. He hadn’t just stepped over a line, he’d jumped up and down on it a few times for good measure. His mother had been worried that he wasn’t suited to a customer service job, and she hadn’t been wrong.

But then both of them burst into laughter. Full on, blondie-doubled-over laughter that was enough to make it hard for Dean to keep from laughing.

“By God, Cassie, no wonder you come in here every morning. And you probably do need whiskey and sugar to put up with your brothers and me all day.” Balthazar was wiping tears from his eyes, looking like he was still struggling to contain himself.

Mr. Novak—Cassie? No, definitely not—smothered his own amusement and looked back up at Dean with a twinkle in his eye. “Yes please, Dean, the usual. And a plain cup of black coffee for Balthazar. He’s already got more than enough personality.”

Dean nodded, grinning. “You got it.”

By the time he finished making their coffee, they were busy talking about ‘the files for the Abbadon case’, and Balthazar irritatedly growling about how ‘Lucy really screwed the pooch on that one, and Judge Adler’s going to fuck us over’, and… oh jeez. Mr. Novak was a lawyer? That made it official. No high-power lawyer ever had any interest in college student-slash-baristas.

Even though his tiny flicker of hope was dying, Mr. Novak smiled at him when he handed over the coffee, and it made everything brighter.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Anytime,” Dean smiled back.

The weekend didn’t manage to kill the last vestiges of Dean’s hope, somehow. Sammy was dating a girl in school to be a nurse. If Sam the lawyer was going to marry Jess the nurse, why wouldn’t Mr. Novak the lawyer want to at least get to know Dean the barista? He was going to be an engineer someday when he graduated college. Hopefully.

Besides, it wasn’t like he was asking for a long term commitment. Just a first name would be nice.

Monday rolled around and Dean found himself staring at the door at 5 AM. And five minutes after. Ten. Fifteen.

Where was he? Had he decided not to come in anymore? Was he okay? Had he decided that Dean was getting too familiar with him?

He was just finishing with Miss Talbot’s cappuccino (“in a _clean_ cup for a change, with a proper almond biscotti, none of that chocolate nonsense”) when the bell on the door jingled and Mr. Novak stepped in. He looked rushed and… damn, no one in such utter disarray had the right to look so hot at the same time. His tie was backward and only half done, his trench coat was hanging half off his shoulders, and his hair was… wow.

Looking at his hair made Dean wonder if it would look like that right after sex. All tousled and sticking up in every direction.

“Are you quite finished ogling the customer?” Miss Talbot asked nastily from the other side of the counter. “Can I have my coffee? Really, why you people think you deserve more than seven dollars an hour is beyond me.”

Flushing, Dean put the biscotti on her tray and slid it over to her side of the counter. “Sorry, Miss Ta—”

“He thinks he deserves to be able to pay rent and eat three meals a day,” Mr. Novak’s voice came from behind him. “And if he has to deal with a lot of people as rude as you, I’d say he’s still undervaluing himself.”

Somehow, that didn’t reduce the flush in Dean’s cheeks. He grabbed the mocha he’d made almost half an hour earlier, ignoring Miss Talbot’s huffing about rude people. He was just thankful he’d put a lid on Mr. Novak’s coffee. Maybe it was still hot enough.

“Hey Mr. N,” he said. “Alarm didn’t go off?”

The response was a pained sigh. “No. I was up late last night working, and I forgot to charge my phone. My assistant called my land line and she’s meeting me at the courthouse, but I have to be there in,” he frowned, digging in his left pocket, then his right again as horror dawned on his face. “I left my wallet at home.”

Dean grinned. “No worries, this one’s on the house. You gotta go home and get your ID to get into the courthouse?”

“No, they know me there, but… are you sure, Dean? I’ll come back and pay you later.” He promised.

As much as Dean wanted him to come back later, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “On the house,” he reiterated.

Then he unthinkingly reached across the counter and pulled the half-done tie loose, and proceeded to re-tie it. About halfway through, he realized what he was doing, and to someone whose first name he didn’t even know. _Still_ , he thought, _even if I’m out of line, might as well finish it now_.

He just seemed to keep doing inappropriate things in Mr. Novak’s presence.

He was about to draw his hands back, but they had been itching to run through that almost-black hair for more than a month, and he might be in the middle of his only chance. So he did it. He reached right up and ran his fingers through. It was softer than he’d expected, but it just took one comb-through to make it look like some effort had been made. Dean drew his hands back and braced for the worst.

Instead, he found curiously blue eyes watching him with interest. Mr. Novak quirked an eyebrow.

“Couldn’t let you go down to the courthouse with your hair all over the place and your tie backward, Mr. N,” he explained weakly, his voice soft. He realized he hadn’t moved back, and they were inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes.

“Jimmy’s a lucky guy,” Mr. Novak said.

“Jimmy…” It took a minute for Dean to understand what he was talking about—Charlie’s teasing on Friday, he must have heard it. Opening his mouth without thinking, Dean told him, “There is no Jimmy.”

That earned him the head-cocked eye squint that Dean was pretty sure was the cutest look of confusion ever.

Well hell, if he was going to make the play, he might as well go all in. “Jimmy’s what Charlie calls you, ‘cause we don’t know your name.”

Those gorgeous blue eyes went round in shock, and Mr. Novak looked like he wanted to say something, but Dean was starting to worry that he’d kept him too long.

“You gotta get to the courthouse,” he said, pushing the to-go cup of coffee across the counter. “Don’t want you to be late.”

“Castiel,” Mr. Novak said. “My name is Castiel. But everyone always makes a big deal of it, so I just don’t go into it if I don’t have to.” Then he looked at his wrist as if checking the time, but there was no watch there. He groaned. “But you’re right, I have to go. Can I—I’d like to—could we maybe…?” He broke off looking frustrated and like he wanted to continue, but didn’t know how.

“Sounds good, Cas,” Dean told him. “I’d like that a lot. Come by sometime when you have your phone, and I’ll give you my number.”

Mr. Novak—Castiel—grinned at that. “I’ll see you soon, Dean.”


End file.
